


Angling for a Job

by whalethefrog



Category: Echo (Visual Novel 2019)
Genre: Crimes & Criminals, Drugs, Fishing, Gen, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Jesus was a skunk, No Romance, Profanity, Skinny Dipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 18:47:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30043107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whalethefrog/pseuds/whalethefrog
Summary: Micha finds himself back in Echo with little more than the clothes on his back. Not sure of where to go or who to turn to, he calls on an old acquaintance.
Kudos: 2





	Angling for a Job

The mobile home belies its name. It put down thick roots of rot and decay deep into its foundation, strangling it tighter than foot-a-night vine. The flimsy structure shuddered with the snoring of its sole occupant. Inside, Jeremy lay spread-eagle on a worn, sun-bleached sleeping bag that suffices for his mattress. The fox's rotund body is well-insulated and moreover prone to overheating, so he sleeps only in a tattered pair of stained briefs. His paunch balloons in and out as he gasps for breath, choking on the girth of his own neck.

His ear twitches. Jeremy snorts and starts coughing, still asleep. He rolls to the side and would happily return to the usual parade of nightmares but for a sound. It was a soft scuffle across the dirt, a grating whisper. It happens again, drawing closer.

His bleary eyes flick open, chronically bloodshot from weed and worse. He coughs again, sitting up with difficulty. There is a hollow knock at the door. Adrenaline flows through his blood like warm molasses, kicking his heart from first into second gear. One paw scrambles for the baseball bat never far from his side; the other catches the edge of the windowsill and hauls him to his feet.

"Who the fuck is it?" He growls, gnashing his cracked and chipped teeth together. He holds the bat in one paw, held high above his head not unlike how he'd seen samurai do in movies. His reputation was such that few would fuck with him in his own domain, but there was no accounting for the drifters and other transients that passed through Echo like tumbleweeds.

A high-pitched voice replies through the plastic door.

"It's me. Open the fuck up."

The voice jangles through his brain but fails to ring any bell. Jeremy creeps to the front window, negligently kicking debris out of the way. With weapon outstretched, he slowly pushes aside the cheap gingham curtains. In the warm glow of sodium lamplight, he makes out the figure of a young bat, arms crossed, golden eyes shining bright with reflected light. Despite the cold, he wore a tank top and green running shorts. The tight shirt barely held back the thick white fur that covered him from neck to stomach, and down to either elbow.

"Come on, dude. It's freezing out here."

"Micha?" The dim memory of a small twink with sticky fingers came to him. It must have been five, ten years since the kid flew the coop -- or wherever it was that bats lived.

"Yeah."

"You fucking alone?" Jeremy tried to listen harder but if there was anything else rustling outside, he couldn't distinguish it from the ferals.

"Bad company corrupts good character." The bat shrugged impassively, stretching out his paws as if to show all the people he wasn't hiding. 

Satisfied, Jeremy unbolts the door and lets him in. The bat looks too thin but tall, much taller than he remembers. Right before Micha fled, the little twerp came up to his chest, if you didn't count the ears. Now it was the other way around, but Jeremy did not feel the least bit threatened by the weak and trembling queer.

"Been a while, ain't it?" Jeremy said, keeping his eye on him. "The hell you doin' here, runt."

"Ran out of places to run away from," he said. He dropped his small backpack at the door, kicking it against the wall. "Not much out there for an asshole like me. You got somethin' to eat?"

"This isn't a fucking charity, Micha. Shit's been hard for us too."

"I'm not askin' for your charity." Micha's voice went up a whole step, verging on a squeak.

"What are you offering, then?"

"I'll pay you back." Micha crossed his arms and looked away, suddenly reminding Jeremy of his precocious younger sister. She'd also managed to get free of Echo's death grip, though he knew she'd get sucked back in someday.

"If you're going to lie to me, Micha, get the fuck out."

"Okay, okay. Let me work for you. You've got to be dealin' something, so cut me in."

"Now why would I do that?" Jeremy drops the baseball bat in its rightful corner and steps into the kitchen, scratching his belly. He opens the refrigerator, looking like a fat ghost in front of its unhealthy glow.

"What users do you know around here that I don't, huh?"

"I can go places you can't."

"Oh? Like where?" He bites off the cap of his beer and spits it into the sink, barely registering the pain in his jaw. With a careless paw he kicks the door closed, plunging the trailer back into dark amber twilight.

"Like the Smoke Room."

"The fuck is that?"

Micha puts his hands on his hips, a smug look in his face.

"Not your kind of place, you might say. But plenty of folk there lookin' to forget what they are. And I guarantee they wouldn't let your ass through the door."

"Lookin' to forget -- what, like you?"

"Maybe."

"Heh. Goddamn queers. Fine, I'll think about it." The overweight fox rummages around in his cupboards, his mange-eaten tail swishing with possibilities. He finds a bag of chips and tosses it at the bat. Micha catches it in both hands, like it's precious to him.

"That'll tide you over. Now get the hell out."

"Thanks, Jer." Micha picks up his knapsack and slips out the door, making about as much noise coming as leaving.

"Don't thank me yet."

The gears turning in Jeremy's head made it hard for him to go back to sleep. The sweltering heat forced him awake shortly before noon. There'd been no AC since the window unit failed last summer. He woke feeling musky and crusted in sweat, craving a shower. But until he could afford to get the propane filled, there'd be no hot water.

First things first, he needed to do something about the thrumming in his braincase. Searching the trailer for any variety of inhalant turned up a handful of joints and a half-empty pack of Eagle Spirits. The choice was clear. He lays back down and watches the pot smoke curl about the ceiling, using an empty beer bottle as a makeshift ashtray.

Micha, he thought. He remembered him at the margins of his circle of friends, more of a friend of Keith's than a friend of his. But, on reflection, that was probably a mark in Micha's favor. Keith had at least tried to be a good person, not that it did him any good in the end.

As for the bat, he was an indifferent student, easily bored and constantly tired from nocturnal life. He was smart and quick with words when he wanted to be. There was just something off about him. There were times when he stared off into the distance for hours on end, listening to something no one else could hear.

His joint expired, he got dressed and went searching for the bat. He doesn't need go far; Micha built a rough lean-to by the brush at the edge of the lot, covered with a ragged bit of faded blue tarpaulin. Jeremy trudges over and shakes the sleeping bat's shoulder with his foot. The nudge causes Micha to roll on to his back, one eye staring blankly back at him.

The fox staggers back, recoiling in horror, the single, tawny eye fixed inviolably upon him, gouging into him. Falling flat on his tail, he scrambles away, claws tearing into the dust behind him. Shaken awake by the noise, Micha yawns, stretching himself awake against the somnolent sun.

"The fuck?" He says, looking at Jeremy with mild amusement. His shoulders were sore from sleeping on the ground, and his clothes from last night were yet more disheveled.

"What the fuck!" Jeremy shouts, pointing at him. "Why was your fucking eye like that?"

"Like what?"

"Staring like a creepy-ass fucker!"

"Oh." Micha absently brushes the dust out of his neck fur. "That's just something bats do."

"What."

"It's just a species thing, dude. Don't have a cow." Sitting cross-legged, he pulls the tarp free and folds it back into the knapsack he used as a pillow. Jeremy finds his composure and stands back up, keeping a wary eye on Micha.

"It was freaky as fuck. Heh."

Micha shrugs, packing up his knapsack. It doesn't take very long.

"So what did you want?"

"Oh, uh, right. You hungry?" In the light, Jeremy could better see the shitty tattoos that covered the bat's sleeves. Some of them looked like they could have been done by Micha himself.

"I could eat." He'd killed the bag of chips several hours ago.

"Best go fishin' then. Come on, you can use my old pole."

Jeremy's aging minivan growled to life just long enough to take them a half-hour north, to one of the flowages created by the dam across the Yeeyah. The two set up folding chairs on an embankment overlooking the small, man-made lake, lines cast far into the quiet waters. While nobody stocked the lake, bluegill and trout still found their way into it during storms. Once the overflow stopped, any unlucky fish would find themselves trapped.

"Well, now we wait." Jeremy said. He opens up a small insulated bag between them and offers Micha a lukewarm beer, taking one for himself.

"It's been a while since I've been here. Reminds me of the old man." Keith had seemed to know all these hidden ponds like the back of his hand. He'd taken them all fishing at one time or another, showing them how to bait their lines with pieces of hot dog, moldy bread, or canned corn.

"He's been gone a long time."

"Did Brian--"

"No." Jeremy couldn't have him reopening that wound. "The boss still says Keith is hiding on the rez. Somewhere."

Micha scoffs and kicks the dirt under his feet.

"So he says."

"If you're goin' to start shit with him you might as well fuck off right now. That bitch is ten times more crazy than you remember." He couldn't bring himself to tell Micha half of the insane bullshit the half-feral bear had pulled. "But he's got us all by the balls. I swear the bastard straight up kills any dealer that so much as looks at Echo funny."

"It's that bad?"

"Did I stutter? Bitch. Is. Crazy. But he's got all the hookups, so we go along with him and Duke. The weasel acts like his fucking lieutenant for some reason."

"How're the others doin'?"

"How you'd expect. Clint and Heather got into the hard shit after high school and never looked back. Half the time I don't think they're even really here. Jas fucked off to college with the rest of the nerds. That rich ass goat dropped out a few years back, came home with his tail between his legs. Now he sits in the Castle playing video games all day, smoking enough weed to kill an elephant."

Jeremy spit on the ground, his blood boiling.

"Guess I shouldn't look a gift goat in the mouth. If he knew what weed was really worth we'd all fucking starve."

Micha tittered, his voice wavering between a squeal and a screech. It was as unsettling as it always had been.

"What about that wolf? He still around?" Micha fiddled with the fishing rod, causing a few tiny rings to skitter across the surface of the pond.

"Leo? Ay, puchica." Jeremy's impression of his high school nemesis was not what one might call politically correct. "He's no longer a problem. Without his otter fuckboy, he's nothin'." The fox spits into the dust.

"Hmm." Micha kicked again beneath his camping chair. His short legs dangled a bit off the ground.

"So what have you been doin'? It's been what, ten years?"

"Eight."

"Whatever."

"Stayed in Payton a bit. Crashed on some couches, slept during the day, roamed the streets at night. Had to move on when folk started asking too many questions. So I hitchhiked to the coast, tried to get a job at a movie studio."

"You? A fucking actor?" Micha shrugged.

"Or something like that. Seemed like a good idea at the time, but it never came to nothin'. Then I washed dishes, picked fruit, delivered packages, that sort of shit. Anything that paid in cash and didn't ask too many questions was fine by me. Things were fine until I come home one day to find that my roommate stole my half of the rent and snorted it right up her massive fucking nose. My shit had been thrown to the curb for half the night, nothing left of it but garbage."

"That fucking sucks."

"Had enough cash in my pocket for a ticket to Echo, so I took it. Figured my folks might be gone, but maybe somebody else here might give a shit about me."

"I don't give a shit about you. Don't be gay." Jeremy tugged at his pole, though nothing was biting.

"You know what I mean, asshole." Micha drained the last of his beer and chucked it as far as he could. It spun lazily in the air until its arc brought it down into the water.

"Fucking hell, it's hot." Jeremy wedged his pole around the supports of his folding chair and tugged his shirt over his head. It was soaked through with his sweat and caked with dirt. He drapes it over the cooler to dry out, feeling his bare fur crawl under Micha's gaze. Upon sitting back down, however, he sees the bats eyes are focused a thousand yards away.

"You know what fucking beats all? I dunno if there are even any goddamn fish in there." Jeremy says. He snorts ruefully, feeling like he's talking to himself.

"Could be," Micha says. He quietly stares at the mountains, not a cloud in the sky. Then, in a lower voice, he whispers:
    
    
    "There is no faithfulness or steadfast love, 
        and no knowledge of God in the land;
    there is swearing, lying, murder, stealing, and committing adultery;
        they break all bounds, and bloodshed follows bloodshed.
    Therefore the land mourns,
        and all who dwell in it languish,
    and also the beasts of the field
        and the birds of the heavens,
        and even the fish of the sea are taken away."

There is a quiet stillness after Micha finishes in which it feels wrong for Jeremy to respond with anything, let alone his gruff coarseness. The moment fades.

"Where'd that come from?" Jeremy says, chuckling.

"Bible. Got parts of it locked away up here," he says, tapping himself under an ear. "Gave me something to do when I couldn't sleep. Sometimes bits float to the top." He shrugs.

"What's it mean?" Jeremy had never seen much use for religion, but the words Micha spoke seemed more substantial than common words, and he needed to know why.

"It means that if we were good people, there'd be fish in that lake."

"Bullshit."

"I didn't write the damn thing."

"This is boring as fuck, dude." Jeremy stands up, reeling in his line. "And I'm sweating my balls off. Fuck this shit, I'm goin' swimmin'." Leaning his fishing rod against the car, he pauses for a moment to wipe the sweat off his brow. Completely out of fucks, he leaves the rest of his clothes to dry on the car.

"You comin' or what?" Jeremy asks.

"Might as well." Micha's hook still has three kernels of corn when he winds it back in. The path down to the water's edge is only a couple feet but it's steep, nearly vertical, and they have to walk sideways to descend.

Micha can't even feign interest in the sloppy fox. He carries his weight in all the wrong places, ass still somehow flat as a pancake. Living rough took a toll on his fur, making it dull, mottled and prematurely graying. While not opposed to piercings on principle, Micha finds the ear gauges make those huge, floppy, beige ears look misshapen.

Yipping like a kit, Jeremy charges straight at the water. It has a sick, oily sheen to it as it sloshes around his thick calves. Micha undresses behind him, putting a rock over his thin shorts so they don't blow away. At the edge of the lake, he squats and frowns at its relative opacity.

"This lake is pretty gross, dude." He says.

"Quit whining and get the fuck in." The cool water is up to Jeremy's tits, and he splashes some in Micha's direction. "It's not as bad away from the shore."

Micha sighs and steps in, wincing at the cold as it climbs up his legs. Several paces in, the concrete gives way to muck, oozing with unnatural viscosity around his toes. The two wade back and forth, neither particularly wanting to submerge their head in unknown waters. The sun beats down on them both, the intolerable heat of high noon retreating slightly to the more manageable temperature of early afternoon. A light breeze blows across the empty waste surrounding Echo.

"I didn't see any fish, did you?" Jeremy asks, hiking his shorts up. It's a struggle for him to reach back and latch the tail strap.

"Not a one."

"Guess we'll pack up, then. I've got some hot dogs back at the trailer."

"Fine by me."

They roasted them over Jeremy's fire pit, not even the third most illegal fixture of his makeshift homestead. The fox would have preferred bluegill or trout, but a full stomach was a full stomach. As they finished off the last of his six pack, Jeremy sucked on a fresh blunt and reflected on his plan.

"So, I've been thinking about your offer." He said, laconically.

"And?"

"I think it sucks."

"Bitch."

"Hold on. I got a better idea. Anyone else seen you yet?"

"Just the bus driver."

"Then I think I have a plan. I have it on good authority that the rich assholes are all out of town, save their fuckmuppet of a failson. Normally the rule is not to shit where I eat, but when the trough is that large, who's goin' to notice?"

"You want to pull a job on them?" Micha laughs. "That's the dumbest shit I'd ever heard. Why mark the one family in town the police still give a shit about?"

"Shut the fuck up and listen. A year or so back the brat wrapped his car around a stop sign. So when he buys a package, he has me deliver it to the door like I'm goddamn Amazon. Bein' the observant sort, I took notice of the cameras they've got festooned about. Seems to me like there's a hole in their security."

"Alright, so someone could slip through without being spotted."

Jeremy laughs. "That's right. The trick is going to be grabbing something we can fence easy. Problem is, no one knows what's in the place; I've never stepped a foot inside the door. So we'll have to take one trip to look around, and then return once we figure out what we're takin'."

Micha hums a low tune, poking at the fire with a spare branch.

"So why ain't you done it yet?"

"Once they call the cops, they're still going to tear the trailer park apart looking for their shit. It's no big secret that there's no love lost for those bitches here." Jeremy smirked. "But nobody knows you're back; they won't even be looking for you. Our crew can hold a big party or something to give us an alibi while you lay low until the heat passes."

"Your crew."

"Bitch, whatever." Jeremy brushes aside the difference with a lazy sweep of his hand. "You in or not?"

Micha turned away. It was a mite better than selling drugs, or worse. Depending on what they found in the house, he might have enough to get out of Echo and back to the real world. The street lamp flickers on with a crackle, and then a buzz -- the hum of all electronic devices, sixty Hertz, the perfect frequency for boring a hole through the skull just under the ear and into the brain.

"Fine. I'm in."

**Author's Note:**

> Micha quotes Hosea 4:1-3, and earlier 1 Corinthians 15:33.


End file.
